


Grantaire Has a Sugar Daddy

by Re_repeat



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Drinking, F/M, Friendship is Magic, Humor, Jealousy, Look At Your Life Look At Your Choices, M/M, Pining, Romance, Sugar Daddy, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:12:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Re_repeat/pseuds/Re_repeat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire has a sugar daddy and a golden haired revolutionary doesn't approve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Speak Your Truth

**Author's Note:**

> This whole idea was inspired by 148km's Glitterbombs of Angry Queers (http://archiveofourown.org/series/36671). In it Grantaire somehow has some really swank digs and I asked MeMeMe if it was because he had a sugar daddy. The answer for the series is we don't know, but my answer was to write a story where Grantaire does have one.

Courfeyrac noticed the car first. They had all noticed that Grantaire was driving a car, when normally preferred to walk or take the bus— (“not worth the DWIs I would rack up”)— but none of them knew cars like Courfeyrac. Grantaire had shown up late to the meeting because he didn't want it to become a big thing. Then Courfeyrac had seen him park and ran outside and he knew that.

Hoping was going to get him nothing.

"That is a Porsche Boxster. That is a 2013 model. It's only been on the market for a few months. Why do you have it?" Courfeyrac's voice kept rising dramatically higher and higher in pitch, practically becoming a squeal of disbelief by the time he asked the question.

Grantaire slipped the key in his pocket, trying to ignore the fact that Courfeyrac's face was inches away from his own. "I'm borrowing it from a friend," he replied. Courfeyrac, unsatisfied with Grantaire's answer, continued to stare before Grantaire put his hand on Courfeyrac's face and pushed him back forcefully.

"None of our friends own a car that nice!" Courfeyrac said, as he stared wistfully out of the Musain's window.

"I'm sure Grantaire is perfectly capable of making friends outside of our little group." Combeferre said from behind his book.

"No he's not." He pointed toward the car. "He is not capable of making the kind of friends with the money for that kind of car."

"I'm friends with you lot."

"That's different, that's their parents’ money." Eponine joked, though she also sounded a little bitter.

Marius looked like he was going to say something, but Cosette wisely placed a hand on his shoulder and gave a little shake of her head.

"We should focus on the meeting." Grantaire tried to pretend there wasn't a hint of desperation in his voice. Most people, when hearing the plea within his words, would have left well enough alone.

Courfeyrac was not most people.

"You're an artist, Grantaire. You don't make that kind of money."

"I told you I'm borrowing it from a friend."

"Oh really?" Courfeyrac leaped to his feet and started pacing between two tables before stopping in front of Jehan. "What is the information we have so far dear Watson?"

"That the car is apparently a Porsche Boxing?" Jehan fiddled with his hair and shot Grantaire an apologetic look.

"Boxster, good chap, a Boxster. We know that Grantaire is borrowing this car from a friend, but we also know that the only friends Grantaire has are in this room. Have any of you come into enough money recently to buy a vehicle?"

Enjolras glared at Grantaire as if this were all his fault, which it wasn’t. This was all Courfeyrac. "No, but we can discuss this after our meeting is over. We have plans that still need to be finalized about the--"

"Good sir, I beg of you not to interrupt!" Courfeyrac pointed a finger accusingly at Enjolras before going back to pacing.

"So we have a litany of clues. One: none of us have the money for that type of car. Two: Grantaire has been wearing expensive designer jeans made to look cheap. Three: he has a brand new iPhone 5, despite the fact that he claims to be a Luddite. One must draw the conclusion that someone is giving him money. But who?" 

Oh no.

"Now, we all know that Grantaire has no relatives, or that the relatives he has are not ones he chooses to speak to. So perhaps he has started to sell his paintings to galleries? Wrong! Grantaire is a shitty artist, but only in the sense that he refuses to share his art! Even Bahorel proudly displays that piece of shit he calls a figure drawing!"

"It is a figure!" Bahorel claimed.

"A stick figure with circles for breasts. The instructor laughed at you." Feuilly said. Bahorel responded by slapping him upside the head.

Please let this distract him, Grantaire thought to himself, wishing he could disappear.

Courfeyrac cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention back to him. "No friends, there is only one reason, one way that our friend could afford top shelf liquor and imported craft beer over his usual swill. Grantaire has," he paused for dramatic effect, leaving even the most uninterested parties (re: Enjolras) leaning in closer, afraid they might miss the reveal.

"A sugar daddy."

Well shit.

Everyone's attention turned from Courfeyrac to Grantaire,whose face had gone pale. He felt stuck to the spot but also like he desperately wanted to leave immediately and go to the Corinthe to order a beer or six. 

Even the golden god had abandoned his papers and was looking at him with an unreadable expression. "What is a sugar daddy?”

Oh, suddenly his expression made a lot more sense: confusion.

"We really don't need to talk about it, we can get back to talking about saving the world. In fact I think you have finally convinced me, Apollo. I officially believe in the cause. Let’s get to it so I can show you."

"A sugar daddy is someone who is generally in a relationship with someone younger. The person is generally well off and gives lavish gifts and money." Combeferre answered.

"Et tu?" Grantaire asked, giving Combeferre a wounded look

The only way to describe the look on Enjolras' face would be disgust. Grantaire wanted to look away, he did, but he found that he couldn't. "You're prostituting yourself."

"It's not prostitution." Musichetta was glaring at Enjolras and Grantaire had never been happier that she was in his life. "It's a relationship. It's not like Grantaire is getting paid a few bills to give a quickie blow job."

"I for one think it’s pretty fucking awesome." Bahorel said. "I want a sugar mama. It would be great."

"Sure would make my lot easier," Feuilly muttered.

"So instead of trying to convince someone that they should stop living such an over luxurious lifestyle." Enjolras said quietly, with rage bubbling underneath, "You choose to take part in the bourgeois lifestyle which we are fighting against? This is completely different from you mocking the cause for equality, you might as well be spitting in our faces."

"Enjolras, I think that's a little harsh." Courfeyrac said.

"I don’t think so. The mere act of him being at this meeting is hypocritical." Enjolras snarled before turning his attention back to Grantaire. "This sugar daddy of yours, is he some oil tycoon? Some CFO of a company with despicable business practices? A closeted Republican who pays for your silence with expensive trinkets?"

Grantaire shrugged. "If you can't beat them, and so on."

"Do you believe in anything?" Enjolras asked, his voice getting louder. "Are you really so wrapped up in your own haze of alcohol and self-loathing that you think you can't make a difference?" Enjolras's speech had quickly turned into yelling. He grabbed his jacket and stormed out, brushing past Grantaire without even looking at him.

Everyone stared quietly at the door before Combeferre stood up, clearing his throat. "Well, I think maybe we won't be very productive today. Perhaps we'll reconvene at a different time." He quickly grabbed his things and went out the door.

Musichetta went over to where Grantaire was standing and guided him toward a chair. She took his hand and held it, hoping that it would be of some comfort to him.

"I'm going to go talk to Enjolrass. With my fist." Eponine started rolling up her sleeves and walking towards the door when Bahorel scooped her up, tutting at her that violence didn’t solve anything before placing himself between her and the door. Eponine glared at him while Feuilly patted her back sympathetically.

"I'm sorry dude," Courfeyrac said, placing a beer on the table. "I really didn’t know he was going to be such a dick about it. Actually, I really didn’t know that you had a sugar daddy, I was just joking around."

Grantaire took the beer and chugged. When he set it down, it was empty. "Buy me another and I'll forgive you."

"Done deal." Courfeyrac said, smiling and putting his hand on Grantaire's shoulder, lightly squeezing before he disappeared.

"But Cosette, Bahorel said something about a sugar mama. Are they different?" Marius asked.

Cosette smiled at him and patted his hand. "I'll tell you when you're older."

"I'm older than you."

Grantaire laughed at the exchange along with everyone else, but it felt hollow. And he felt alone.

 

Enjolras fumed all the way to the bus stop. Only Grantaire could manage to do something to jeopardize the integrity of a student group he didn’t even believe in. He barely noticed when Combeferre started walking beside him until he placed a hand on Enjolras's shoulder, making him stop. "I think perhaps that went a little further than you would have liked."

"He's making a mockery of everything we stand for!"

"Is he, though?"

"Yes!"

Combeferre adjusted his book bag and took a second before responding, using the tone of voice that Enjolras recognized was specifically supposed to make him calm down. "We want equality and freedom for all. So while you may disapprove of Grantaire's lifestyle for other reasons-"

"Like what?" Enjolras asked.

"It technically is in line with the idea that people should be free to do what they want. Besides, our group is geared more towards things like the Patriot Act and boycotting Super PACs. I don't think one person’s consensual relationship really jeopardizes that." 

"You didn't answer my question."

Combeferre sighed. "Remember when we were five and your parents kept on making you try to take swim lessons?"

"Yes," Enjolras replied cautiously. "But I don't see where this is going."

"You refused. Every day you would sit on the bleachers and your mom would do everything but throw you in to try and convince you that swim lessons where fun. Then one day she stopped trying. She just read a magazine while you sat with her on the bleachers, and you watched us swim reading a magazine. The next day, you were in the pool learning to blow bubbles."

"I still don't really see the point."

"The point I'm trying to make is that sometimes I have to let you come to conclusions on your own. Otherwise you'll fight the whole way."

Enjolras glared at him. "That's true, but in this case I don't know what I'd be fighting you on."

"Why were you so angry back there?" Combeferre asked, trying to keep the exasperation he felt out of his voice.

"Because Grantaire's actions reflect badly on our group."

Combeferre sighed again. "I think perhaps, there is a different reason, and you should try and reflect on that."

"I think, perhaps, you've been watching too much Law and Order: Criminal Intent."

"Apparently it's nothing compared to how much Sherlock Courfeyrac is watching."

 

Jehan and Courfeyrac decided against joining the rest for drinks at the Corinthe, mostly because even though Grantaire said he forgave Courfeyrac, Jehan had noticed the glares some of the others had given him. "I feel like such an ass."

"That's because you were, but it was unintentional." Jehan replied. He rubbed his hands lightly on Courfeyrac's back.

"That's not entirely true." Courfeyrac said. "I was sort of hoping Enjolras would get jealous and realize that he reciprocated Grantaire's feelings." Courfeyrac felt Jehan’s head hit his shoulder, and heard the sigh that meant he was frustrated. “I know, I'm not only an ass but an idiot as well." 

"No, that's not it." Jehan couldn't help but grin. "I just can't believe you decided to play Sherlock outside of the bedroom."

Courfeyrac laughed, reaching to thread his fingers in the loose locks of Jehan's hair. "Well, dear Watson," he said in his best British accent. "Let me make that up to you right now."


	2. Is that Your Wife, Your Girlfriend, or Just Your Main Bitch?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire and Musichetta talk about life; Grantaire has thing for blondes (duh) and Eponine has a thing for redheads

Musichetta had taken whatever she deemed imperfect from her bakery (though perfection was what she aimed for, and even the slightest bubble or misshaped muffin top was deemed unworthy) and brought it to Grantaire's apartment. Bossuet had offered to join her, stating that his brand of humor (mostly physical comedy) might help make Grantaire feel better, but she had insisted that having his things broken might just make him feel worse. 

The truth was that she was the only one in their group of friends who knew where Grantaire lived.

And that was because she was the only one who had known that Grantaire was a sugar baby.

She found out by coincidence. Before becoming the proud owner of the best new patisserie and bakery in town, she worked as a hostess at chichi restaurant downtown where the men would palm her twenties and fifties to get their names bumped up. She hadn't thought anything of it when she had accepted one of those fifties from an older gentleman who had told her he wanted a booth in the back corner, and that his friend would be joining him momentarily. It was a regular occurrence, and she joked with her fellow hostesses about whether his friend would have fake C or D cups.

When Grantaire had walked in, she remembered that her heart had started to race. If any of her friends showed up at her work, then something had to be wrong; Joly might actually be sick; Bossuet's unlucky streak might have turned deadly. Then she noticed the crisp button down, the care Grantaire had taken with his hair and the fact that he had shaved and realized that he wasn't here to deliver bad news. When he realized she was staring at him, he had gone pale and nodded weakly, coming up to the podium and giving her the name of the man who had given her the fifty earlier and said he would explain later.

She knew, though. Musichetta was a clever girl even at her worst—besides, she had some experience in that department. The next day Grantaire had explained everything and she had just shrugged, letting him know that she didn’t care as long as he was happy.

Grantaire's apartment was in a part of town that had given over to gentrification a few years before and was now a hip spot for all of the people who considered themselves trendsetters. Lots of overpriced farm-to-plate eateries, beer lounges, and galleries where in the area that probably had a lu, ho, or town somewhere in the name. When she had first seen it, he explained that it wasn't technically his, and he liked to consider it house sitting because He could kick him out at anytime he wanted.

 

She took out her spare key and let herself in, setting the bag down on the kitchen counter. Grantaire was lying on the sofa face down, but she thought she heard a muffled hey when she closed the door.

"What are you doing?" She walked over to the couch and perched on the edge.

Grantaire turned his head slightly so he wouldn't be speaking into the cushions. "Wallowing."

"Why?"

"You know why."

Musichetta ruffled his hair. "You drove the car there."

"I know, but only because He was in town and He hates Lucy."

"Well, there is no point in wallowing. Enjolras will get over it."

"How come you managed to keep it quiet? The guy bought you a fucking bakery."

"He's an investor. That part of our relationship ended the day I met Joly." Grantaire groaned and she moved her hands to his back, lightly drawing circles over his shoulder blades. "Sweetboy, I promise this will work out."

"Honestly, you didn't even have sex with him and he bought you a bakery." He deflected.

"Anyone would love you even if you didn't get physical with them."

"I don't have much else to offer."

Musichetta sighed.

"I don't. And now Enjolras hates me more than he did before."

 

Musichetta knew that tone and decided not to fight him. Grantaire buried his face into cushion again with a groan of frustration.

"I promise," she whispered. "It will work out."

 

Grantaire made Musichetta leave a few hours later, stating that he wanted to be alone. The truth was he had a date and needed to get ready.

Montparnasse was a lot of things, but the best thing was that he was a welcome distraction.

 

He showed up an hour after he said he would, but he brought a box of several expensive tequilas, explaining that they could do horizontal flights and then some other horizontal things.

Grantaire dutifully laughed while reminding himself that witty conversation was not one of the reasons he enjoyed the dandy’s company. On the fourth flight, (Jose Cuervo Anejo, which there is nothing wrong with, but Grantaire prefers his tequilas to either be cheap or at least not a name brand, because he is the hipster of drunks,) Montparnasse moves to drape himself over Grantaire's lap. 

"We're not done yet. It's a six flight." Grantaire pointed out.

Montparnasse pressed down against his hips. "I'm not that fucking silver fox you hang out with. We both know that this is the reason I come over. I bring good alcohol, or take you to some expensive concert, or out to eat at some fancy restaurant and then we move on to more physical pursuits. You're an expensive fucking date."

"I'm not in the mood." Grantaire replied, with the sudden realization that he actually wasn't in the mood. Normally at this point he would be saying that just because Montparnasse enjoyed the chase, enjoyed the fight, and he probably assumed that was what Grantaire was up to because his response was to bite softly at Grantaire's neck. "I'm serious." Grantaire growled, shoving gently at him. "I don't feel like dealing with you tonight."

Montparnasse actually obliged him, getting off of him awkwardly. "What's up your ass tonight? Have a fight with blondie?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Grantaire mumbled. He decided to ignore the pretense of civility when it came to drinking and grabbed a random bottle off the table, taking a large swallow.

Montparnasse snorted before taking the bottle from him. "This is why you can't have nice things." Grantaire responded by gesturing around the apartment. Montparnasse laughed, "That doesn't count. None of this is yours."

Something about that statement, perhaps the fact that in reality it was true, that everything could be taken away from him if he wasn’t careful, made Grantaire angry. He grabbed the bottle back from Montparnasse and took a swig before angrily pointing at the door. "Get the fuck out."

Montparnasse laughed but got up, not bothering to grab any of the tequila. He brushed his hand against Grantaire's cheek in a gesture that someone else would misconstrue as intimate. "Another night, when you're feeling a little less like an asshole, call me. You can pretend I'm a different blonde." He blew Grantaire a kiss before letting himself out.

Grantaire stared at the door, cursing at himself. He had enough tequila for a small party but decided to go out anyway, shooting a text to Eponine to see if she wanted to meet for drinks. She responded a few moments later with an enthusiastic "yes!!!" He smiled at his phone and walked out.

 

Eponine beat Grantaire to the Corinthe by one drink and a round of shots with Feuilly and Bahorel. She felt warm and greeted Grantaire with a large hug, pushing him into their booth. "You weren't at the last meeting." She said, flagging the waitress over.

"Didnt didn't want to cause a ruckus." He replied and she only frowned in response. "Four shots of your strongest alcohol and a whiskey neat, comma please."

"Do you get an allowance? Because if you do, you’re buying the next few rounds." Bahorel's grin turned to pain as Eponine kicked him under the table. "What? You said you thought we shouldn't bring it up. I never agreed to that."

Eponine glared before softening as she turned to Grantaire. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"It's okay, Courfeyrac said that blowjobs told him Musichetta was over there for a while. I'm sure he's all talked out." Feuilly said, keeping a straight face.

"Bossuet can't even catch a break with autocorrect." Bahorel said.

"He should take it as a compliment, it's like everyone's phones autocorrect his name to their favorite things." Feuilly replied.

Grantaire laughed, pulling up Bossuet's contact information. "Yup, he is lovingly referred to as Booze." He showed them all with a laugh. "What about you?" He asked Bahorel.

"Had to switch to a dumbphone." He got a clunky brick that might have passed for cool when cellphones had first hit the market. "Got sick of having to replace them after fights. I think it was boxing though."

"Oh, he had to downgrade to a dumbphone." Eponine teased. "Feuilly, he had to stoop down to our level."

 

"Looking down upon your fellow man, Bahorel, what a shame." Feuilly added.

Bahorel laughed, clapping him on the back. "And what would your phone correct Bossuet's name to?"

"It doesn't start with B." he responded shooting Eponine a look before turning away, a blush creeping under his freckles.

Eponine blushed too, feeling grateful when the shots showed up only a moment later. She picked hers up and toasted, "to Bossuet."

They toasted a few more times that night: to good friends; to whiskey; to freckles; to those fluffy blankets; to Grantaire's allowance.

By the last one each one of them had gone far past the stage of buzzed and tipsy. Eponine always tried to prove herself to the group in one way or another, but she knew she had to stop when it came to trying to match these men and their drinking. She felt light-headed and was leaning against Feuilly and Grantaire as they stumbled out of the bar. "I think that, I just think that Enjass is such an ass."

"Ep. You just, you took your nickname for him and cut out the l," Grantaire rolled the l sound, holding it for as long as he could.

"Seriously though, I'm just going to, Feuilly stop moving for a second, I'm just going to do this." She patted Feuilly's face. He just looked bemused and she explained, "but harder. I didn't want to hurt my hand on your cheekbones." 

Feuilly smiled and rubbed at his cheeks self-consciously. "Uh, thanks?"

Bahorel laughed. "I want to see it. Lets go slap Enjolras. All of us! R gets to do it twice!"

"I could never mar that beautiful face." Grantaire said seriously, making the rest fall into a fit of giggles. "Guys, do you think he hates me?"

They all stopped laughing and walked in silence for a few moments before Feuilly finally said, "I know he doesn't. He just is Enjolras." In an uncharacteristic move, he pulled Grantaire into a hug, patting him awkwardly.

Eponine wanted to hug him.

"You can come crash at mine tonight. It's closer." Eponine said, linking her arm through Grantaire's. "We'll be hung over together."

The next morning they woke up feeling like shit and Grantaire rolled into Eponine, placing his head on her shoulder. She felt him nip her shoulder lightly and she giggled, stopping abruptly when she felt like her head was about to split open. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," she heard him mumble into her shoulder.

She ran her fingers through his hair and they stayed like that for bit. "It's okay," she said finally. "You had your reasons. Just don't do it again."

"Deal."

"Now shut up and make me coffee."

"Yes ma'am."

He brought back coffee a few minutes later and Eponine had managed to sit up with a lot of effort. "So is he nice?"

"Very." Grantaire said. "He's only town for a little bit at a time. I think he probably has a few other people in the other places he goes to."

"Does that bug you?"

"No. I hook up with other people to, when he's not here."

"Who?"

"You won't like it."

"It's Montparnasse isn't it?" When he didn't respond, she groaned. "Goddammit. Been there, done that, and he's a horrible fucking person and you deserve a lot better."

"This is too much for my hangover. Let’s change the subject."

"It's cause he's blonde, isn't it?”

"Shut up and drink your coffee."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to cut the bar scene but it gave MeMeMe feelings, and I cannot deny her anything.
> 
> Thanks for all the super amazing feedback, it made me feel really special, especially since I've had kind of a hard week :)
> 
> Also I realize that some people have their head canons for different characters, which is why other then the basics I will never say who mine are for characters and just let you all have your own ideas. That being said, Montparnasse had to be a blond, because Grantaire is pretty transparent about everything even if it is unintentional. 
> 
> Also I'm super horrible with titles... so I just hit shuffle on my iPod and decided I would take lyrics from the song that I felt were appropriate... The song is Roll Out (My Business) by Ludacris


	3. I Got A Big Smile On My Face (It's The Best One I Can Fake)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cosette confronts Combeferre, and Marius is helpful.

Combeferre carefully printed the definition of riboflavin onto an index card. He had set a time aside earlier in the week to make flash cards to help him study, already warning his friends (especially Courfeyrac) that his phone would be off for three hours. He had only made it halfway through hour one when he heard a knocking at his door. He sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose. When he opened the door to his apartment, he found a very angry- Cosette. She stormed in without an invitation, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at him. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I think I should be studying, but I am instead answering what I imagine is a rhetorical question."

Her glare only intensified. "You’re the Enjolras whisperer. Why haven't you helped him figure out that he was so pissed the other week because he was hella jealous?"

Combeferre rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Jehan, Eponine and Bossuet have all asked me the same thing. I really can't make him do anything."

"Yes, you can. You really are like Cesar Milan. You snap at a person’s neck and make a noise and they do whatever you want." Cosette came closer to him, stepping into his personal space and pinched his neck making a sch noise. "Like that. Now go tell Enjolras to be with Grantaire."

Combeferre gently pushed her hand away. "I really can't do that. Even if I informed him that the anger he was displaying was out of jealousy because he has grown to like Grantaire in more than a friendly way, what would he do then?"

"Go find him and kiss him senseless." Cosette answered matter-of-factly.

Combeferre sighed, wondering if he would ever be allowed to have a moment when his life didn't revolve around fixing a mess Enjolras had made. "No. He would spend the next few weeks, maybe even months freaking out about the fact that he had feelings for Grantaire and trying to figure out if the person Grantaire is seeing is better than him, and how could he have been so mean to Grantaire this time and that time and how Grantaire must hate him, and so on and so forth and nothing would come of it except self loathing."

"Maybe be could use some." Cosette mumbled.

Combeferre placed a hand on her shoulder. "I know it must be frustrating, seeing Grantaire hurting like he is. It's frustrating to me too, but this is just something you have to let play out. Not everyone can fall madly in love at first sight."

Cosette nodded, her face trying to somehow convey both happiness and sadness over the two very different situations. "Can you at least make him apologize?"

"I can't actually make him do anything."

"Try?" Cosette asked weakly. He nodded and she kissed him on the cheek before hastily saying goodbye. He let out a deep sigh and went back to his flash cards.

 

Enjolras did not notice when Grantaire didn’t show up to the next meeting (no really, he actually didn’t, he was doing work and thought for a moment that the meeting was going a lot more smoothly than normal, but didn’t really think about it.) It was a flashing thought, a tiny flicker in the back of his mind, when Grantaire was not there at the next few meetings. 

It wasn’t until he actually needed him to do something he fully registered that Grantaire was not there. Not only was he not there today, but also he had not been there for quite some time. Feuilly wasn’t there either so he had no one to design a poster.

“Do you know anyone who can design the flyers?” He asked Combeferre after the meeting ended (because Courfeyrac might know everyone, but Combeferre knows all of the people worth knowing.)

Combeferre shook his head in response. “Not anyone who would be willing to do it for free.”

Marius appeared out of thin air and mumbled, “I can.”

"You can?" He asked.

"Well, I think I can. It won't be as good as Feuilly or-" he stopped himself from saying Grantaire, unsure whether just uttering the name would set him off. "But I do some photography and I'm taking a digital editing elective and I actually have a poster assignment, so, yeah, I can do it."

Enjolras gave Combeferre a look, thinking back to when Marius had tried planning a surprise party for Cosette, but Combeferre nodded in a way that conveyed confidence. "Okay. I know Feuilly has been particularly busy, and I'm sure you will do a great job."

Marius looked like he was about to pee with excitement (because Marius is was not actually a human boy but a puppy) and nodded enthusiastically. "Great, yes, I will, let talk about what you want," he said in a rush.

"I'm going to go back to studying. Let me know how it goes." Combeferre said before packing up his things.

"We need the design ready by next week; I know that's short notice." Enjolras said.

"That's okay. I already have an idea. I just hope it's not too, uh, cliché." Marius is started to turn red, feeling extremely nervous. "I'm really happy you're letting me do this, and I know you said you didn't want to bother Feuilly, but I'm sure if you asked Grantaire would do it."

Enjolras' eyes narrowed in response to just hearing the name.

"Not that—never mind—I'm sure you have a good reason." Marius added quickly.

"He hasn't been here for the past few meetings." Enjolras said.

"Oh, yeah, well, y'know," Marius rambled.

"I really don't."

Marius bit his lip, debating whether he should say what he was thinking. "I know you were really mad, and that you had your reasons, but, uh, maybe you should apologize?"

"Apologize," Enjolras said, as if the thought had never occurred to him (because it hadn't.)

Marius scratched at the back of his neck and tried not to look at Enjolras. "Well, yeah. I mean, he probably thinks you don't want him around after what you said, and I mean, maybe you don't, but I think he adds to our group. Like he does the artwork, and that's good, and he kind of helps in his own way."

Enjolras gave him a questioning look and he continued, "Well, he always plays devil’s advocate. He makes your arguments better." 

Enjolras realized that Marius was right. “I suppose he does,” he said carefully.

Marius seemed to flush (turning red was Marius' secret super power) with approval. "Well, I should go, you know, things to do. Flyers don't design themselves." He gave Enjolras a little wave before making his way toward Cosette and then bee lining toward the door.

Enjolras was not sure how he missed it, but he thought he might actually miss Grantaire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, my iPod knows me so well. It's like it can read my mind. The name of the song is "I Miss You" by Kacey Musgraves. And Enjolras misses Grantaire. I can't even.
> 
> This chapter is a little shorter, but don't worry, next chapter will be much longer.
> 
> Many thanks again to MeMeMe, because not only did I write this in note and not edit it before sending it to her (because I'm kind of a dick) but I also wrote this when I was really sick, so the amount of edits were ridiculous, and they were all things I would have caught. So, in other words, I'm forever grateful.
> 
> Also, I'm on tumblr! I don't really do a lot but like things and occasionally make fun of myself and make MeMeMe sound like a drunk, but you can come tumble with me at re-repeatblr.tumblr.com


	4. They Read All The Books But They Can't Find The Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras turns into Drunkolras and Grantaire would just like to put on some pants

Grantaire saw the poster tacked to the door in front of the art building and stopped. There was the ABC logo that he designed in the corner, but that is not a poster he designed. He took a closer look and realized it wasn't one Feuilly would have touched either. Feuilly's artwork involved a lot of contrast and sharp lines, but this poster had a softer, delicate touch.

Grantaire sent a quick text to Feuilly, hoping that maybe he had just wanted to try a new style. 

**Feuilly**   
_Marius did it. Not bad, right?_

Grantaire ripped the poster off the door and crumbled it up, throwing it in the trash.

He tried not to think much of it while in his lecture, but the problem with the History of Furniture (an actual 400 level class that fulfilled some requirement or other) was that it was pretty fucking boring. It gave his mind plenty of time to wander--which it frequently did--but today was different. Today, instead of focusing on Enjolras (well, the physical parts of him, like his hands and his hair and those lips) he focused on the fact that Enjolras seemed not to need him.

He hadn't noticed he'd been doodling until the lights came on. He almost felt bad about the noose he had drawn around Marius's neck, until he remembered that Marius had made him pointless.

The truth was that the only halfway decent contribution Grantaire could ever make to the group was his artistic talent. Feuilly could also create work for the group, but he had a lot less free time then Grantaire did. Marius's work might have been more on the amateur side of the spectrum, but it got the message across and it drew people in, and fuck that stupid freckled moppet.

The one offering he could give to his golden god had been taken away.

So he decided he to go pray at the altars of other gods instead.

 

Enjolras was not quite sure how he got roped into the celebrations, but he had been. One of Jehan's poems being published was not a new thing; he had been published more then a few times since high school, but the American Poetry Review was another beast entirely. At least, that's what Courfeyrac had told him proudly on the phone while convincing him to come out to celebrate. When Enjolras's resolve had started to falter, he’d heard Jehan in the background saying please. It was amazing that he could be that persuasive with just a word over the phone (then again, it was Jehan.)

The night had started off fine. Enjolras met his friends out for drinks determined to only have one or two before cutting out early so he could study. 

His friends celebrated like true heathens. He’d forgotten all about that, probably because the last time they had gone out to celebrate, he hadn't been able to remember much of anything.

By the fourth round of shots, his head was spinning and Cosette was making fun of the fact that he was a lightweight. Marius was perched on her lap, (which before the second shot he thought was strange-- now he wanted to commend them for bucking societal standards on cis male and cis female roles through something as simple as sitting on someone else's lap) and looking how Enjolras felt, which he tried to point out, but he found that his tongue couldn't form around the words.

Instead, he tried to focus on the conversation. "Filly, stop moving, I keep losing count."

Feuilly turned still as a statue as Eponine started counting again, placing her finger delicately against each freckle and muttering to herself about more appearing by the minute.

"Man, it's too bad about Poland's football team this year." Bahorel said with a grin.

"Yes, most definitely a true misfortune. They had their glory years, our dear PZPN, but those days are over." Courfeyrac added mournfully.

"Kazimierz Górski," Jehan intoned.

"Kazimierz Górski," Bahorel and Courfeyrac said mournfully, unable to contain their laughter as Feuilly exploded about how 2014 would be Poland's year at the Olympics and FIFA, before Eponine hit him upside the head and chastised him for moving. 

"Now I have to start over, and I had just finished with counting the ones on this cheekbone." She poked it gently, before looking up. "Where is Grantaire? He would be able to stop Fewilly from moving so much."

"He said that he had something to do tonight, and he would buy me a drink another time." Jehan said sadly.

Courfeyrac kissed his temple. "I'm sure he'll buy you a bottle of that really terrible pink champagne you like."

"It's good!" Jehan protested.

"I call bullshit." Cosette said, peeking around from behind Marius to glare at Enjolras. "This is all your fault."

Enjolras was not sober enough to deal with this (though perhaps he was actually not drunk enough.) "What did I do?" He asked, looking at Cosette, who only responded by glaring at him. "What did I do?" He asked again, this time looking toward Combeferre.

Combeferre made a very good show of investigating the scratches on the table and pretending he had not heard the question.

The table sat awkwardly for a few moments, unable to find where the flow of conversation had left off over Cosette's glare and their fearless leader's confusion.

"So Feuilly, you must be happy, with Janowicz being the first Polish tennis player to get to the Grand Slam semi finals." Courfeyrac said nervously. He looked between Cosette and Enjolras before turning to Feuilly. "Right?"

"Uh, sure," he replied distractedly. His attention was focused on Eponine, who had moved on to counting the freckles on his neck. "Yup, of course, yay Poland."

"You know what you did," Cosette growled.

"I don't!"

"You were a big bully! I'm going to call you Enjatha Trunchbull from now on." 

"What?"

"You put Grantaire in a verbal chokey!"

"A what?"

"Sweetheart, I don't think he gets the reference," Marius said, trying to placate her.

She pushed Marius off of her and pointed a finger accusingly at Enjolras. "Enjiff Tannen."

"Cosette, he's not going to understand. The only movies he's seen are Citizen Kane and Dr. Strangelove."

"Johnjolras Lawrence!"

"I don't know that one."

"I think it's the Karate Kid?"

"Wouldn't that be Cobranjolras?"

"Don't encourage her."

"Nurse Ratcholras!"

 

Montparnasse lounged in Grantaire's bed. He was surrounded in a cloud of smoke, creating a hazy halo.

"Be careful. If you burn a hole in my sheets I will have to murder you."

"The thread count isn't high enough to warrant murder." Montparnasse responded, but grabbed his empty glass from the bedside table to ash his cigarette.

"Whatever," Grantaire responded. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. "I'm going to shower."

"Is that an invitation?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm locking the door. So, yes, I'm quite sure."

Montparnasse watched as Grantaire walked out of the room, smirking at the red marks down his back.

He lit another cigarette when he heard Grantaire's phone go off. He ignored it, inhaling deeply until it went off a second time. Then a third time, and a fourth time. "Jesus," Montparnasse muttered to himself. He grabbed the phone and unlocked it, taking a look at who was messaging Grantaire at 3 in the morning.

**Apollo**   
_Why rnt u here?_

**Apollo**   
_Cosette says its m fault_

**Apollo**   
_She's calling me names_

**Apollo**   
_Enjina George_

**Apollo**   
_Plz come out_

Montparnasse smiled to himself as he typed out a response.

 

Grantaire stepped out of the shower and prayed that Montparnasse was gone. He enjoyed certain aspects of their time together, but Grantaire could only take the man in small doses. 

He was happy when he saw the other man was gone until he heard a banging at the door. "Hold on!" Grantaire called out, assuming that Montparnasse had left something here.

"Jesus Christ Montpar-" Grantaire said as he opened the door. His eyes widened when he saw Enjolras and he quickly slammed the door shut in his face.

"Grantaire?" Enjolras said, knocking lightly on the door. "Can I come in?"

Grantaire opened the door slowly, using it to shield most of his body. "What are you doing here?"

"You told me to come over," Enjolras responded. 

"How do you know where I live?" 

"You gave me the address." He pulled out his phone and held it up to Grantaire's face. "Are you drunk?"

"No, I think that's all you tonight." Grantaire said as his eyes flicked over the text sent from his phone. Montparnasse was the worst human being in the world. "That fucker," Grantaire muttered to himself. "Come in."

"I do believe I am the drunk tonight." Enjolras leaned against the doorframe, taking unsteady steps into the apartment. He looked around and saw expensive furniture and paintings, exposed brick and hardwood floors. "I fought against all this, so of course this is where you live. Sometimes life is a big, fat joke."

"I don't know why it has to be fat," Grantaire mumbled, gripping his towel tighter to himself.

"It was before you started showing up. In high school.” He paused. “What’s the word for when neighborhoods get gentrified…? Oh! Gentrification. Gentrification ruins lives."

"I would love to talk about that more. Let me just go throw some clothes on."

Enjolras grabbed Grantaire by the shoulders to stop him from leaving. “You don’t understand. Underprivileged people are forced out, forced out, because the neighborhood is going to be nice, and have to find a new place to live because people like your friend want to buy artisan sandwiches and $8.00 lattes. It also ruins classical architecture and then the streets are widened and you can’t build barricades in wide streets!” Enjolras was yelling at this point, shaking Grantaire’s shoulders as if this would help to get the point across.

“I think maybe,” Grantaire said gently as he tried gently to get Enjolras to let him go so he could at least put on some damn pants. “I think that maybe your definition of gentrification is a little off, but also that I should go put on some clothes.

"Why did you stop coming to meetings? Cosette said it was my fault. She then proceeded to call me funny names."

"Cosette did something funny while she was drinking, what a novel concept." Grantaire watched as Enjolras flopped gracelessly onto the couch. "Let me go put on clothes and then I'll get you some aspirin and water."

"Grantaire, I insist we discuss this, because I don't wanna be called Khanjolras anymore."

Grantaire sighed, because he knew drunk people (he often times was one of them) and he knew Enjolras. The only person more single minded than a drunk, and now that person (that beautiful god) was drunk on his couch. And Grantaire was in a towel.

Grantaire adjusted his towel and sat on the couch, painfully aware of how Enjolras's hip was grazing his back. 

Enjolras nodded at him and tried to sit up again, failing. "Would you mind terribly if I laid down while we have this conversation?"

"You do you, Apollo."

"Will you please answer the question?" A look came over Enjolras's face that resembled confusion and which Grantaire thought was adorable. "Wait, did I ask the question?"

"Yes."

"Oh, good."

"Well, Apollo, I didn't want to ruin things for the cause. Besides, you made it perfectly clear that I wasn't wanted there."

"That's not true," Enjolras said. Grantaire felt something warm on his wrist and looked down, seeing long fingers clasped around it. He felt like that wrist was no longer a part of his body.

Enjolras's hand was warm and dry on his skin.

"You deserve more. You should get someone who will challenge you to be more, because you can be so much more than some Shih Tzu lap dog in human form. And someone who will take care of you, and I don't mean just with money, because one day we might end up a communist society because of Obama and we won't need money because everyone will be equal." Enjolras laughed and gripped Grantaire's wrist tighter. "That was a joke."

"I got that," Grantaire managed to choke out.

"I think," Enjolras said, and Grantaire felt the hold starting to loosen and saw Enjolras' eyes starting to slide shut. "I think that you could be a lot more than you are."

Then Enjolras was asleep on his couch and Grantaire was still in his towel staring at the hand around his disembodied wrist and wondering what the fuck he was supposed to do now. People didn't just barge into your house and tell you things like you deserved better. Grantaire thought that it might be rude to do that. What if you didn't deserve better?

What if you deserved exactly what life had given you? Nothing more, nothing less.

He slowly stood up. He grabbed the blanket on the back of the couch and gently draped it over Enjolras, debating whether it would be creepy if he slept (okay, watched him sleep) on the armchair.

He decided to text Eponine and ask her. Her response was _sRY Dousin on fecklfss_.

He decided to sleep in his own room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for such a long time in between updates (I aim for at least once a week) but things have been hella busy. I started some online summer classes and Thursday I got to go to a book signing for NEIL GAIMAN. It was the highlight of my life, it's all downhill from here.
> 
> Also I have over 1000 hits! Thank you guys! I started writing a Jehan centric one shot for this AU so I guess that will be your gift once it's done?
> 
> Anyway, thanks to MeMeMe for beta-ing. She is a lovely human being. Also thanks to yallaintright, the author of If It Moves Kick It (which is fantastic) for basically confirming everything I thought about Poland's football team (which is that they are horrible).
> 
> Come find me on tumblr re-repeatblr, I mostly reblog things about Aaron Tveit and how pretty he is, but I think we can all agree that is not a bad thing.
> 
> Also this weeks song was John Mayer's No Such Thing, which made me rethink this whole plucking lines from the first song that comes up on iTunes shuffle, but I feel like I have to stick with it now.


	5. I'm a Kinda Quiet Guy Cause I'm Always in My Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras wakes up really hungover, Cosette acts as a reader stand in, and Pontmercy is used as a verb

Enjolras felt like his skin had turned into snakes. Everything was slithering under his skin, making him burn. His head felt like concrete and he wanted nothing more then to roll over in his bed and go back to sleep.

That was when he realized he wasn't in his bed.

He wasn't even in his apartment.

"Oh shit," he said, dragging his hand across his face. He didn't remember much of last night, except that he had come over here to talk to Grantaire and had ended up yelling at him. He wished he could remember what he had said so he could apologize, because he had been drunk.

That wasn't a good enough excuse.

He sat up and groaned as his brain tried to flip in his skull. Someone, he assumed Grantaire, had taken his shoes off and put them beside the couch, along with a trashcan. If the nausea he is feeling is any indicator, he probably didn't use it, which made him feel a little better.

He started looking for the bathroom and instead found Grantaire's room. He was still asleep, sheets tangled around his legs and cradling a pillow to his body. Enjolras felt a lump beginning to form in his throat as he stared. He took a few steps back and shut the door slowly, completely forgetting what he had been searching for in the first place. 

He didn’t remember leaving Grantaire's apartment, but the next thing he knew, he was banging on Combeferre's door. He felt some strange form of déjà vu when he heard the other man yell from the other side for him to hold on.

"Why did you let me leave?" He asked angrily, once Combeferre answered the door.

"Good morning. I am doing quite well, thank you for asking. No, I'm never too busy to help a friend, why don't you come in and I'll make us some coffee." Combeferre stepped aside so Enjolras could enter.

"Why didn't you stop me? You know how I get when I'm drunk."

"You become more single-minded than normal?"

"No, that's not—well, yes, I suppose that's true." Enjolras sat down at Combeferre's kitchen table and ran a hand through his hair. "But you shouldn't have let me leave."

Combeferre rolled his eyes. "I feel like everyone, including you, seems to think I have control over your life. I don't. You can't blame me when things go wrong."

"I don't blame you," Enjolras protested.

"Why did you let me leave?" Combeferre mimicked.

"Point taken."

That sat in companionable silence while Combeferre brewed coffee. He put a mug in front of Enjolras and sat down across from him. "Are you going to explain what happened, or are you going to make me guess?"

"Making you guess might be fun."

"I think you probably did something that you consider extremely stupid." When Enjolras didn't say anything to the contrar, Combeferre continued, "I think you maybe had good intentions and instead, because you were drunk, ended up saying something you regretted to Grantaire."

"I didn't tell you I went to see Grantaire."

"Have you met our friends? There are no secrets between us. He sent Eponine a text and the rest is history." Combeferre rested a hand lightly on Enjolras'. "What happened?"

Enjolras ran his hands through his hair again, leaving them there as he stared at the table. "I don't remember. I yelled at him. I left this morning before he woke up."

He could hear Combeferre sigh deeply, and imagined that he had his fingers laced together on the table as he thinks. "You don't remember what you said?"

"What I yelled. But no, I don't remember."

"Then maybe you were just yelling something nice to him?" Combeferre didn't even blink when Enjolras gave him an incredulous look. "The last time you were that drunk, you started yelling at me, but it was to tell me how much you valued and appreciated my friendship. You where about to move on to Courfeyrac but we told you to stop before you got arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct."

"You never told me about that."

"I figured you would be embarrassed."

"That's true, I do feel more embarrassed than I did when I showed up."

Combeferre let out another sigh. "That was not my intention.”

"Really?"

"Okay, maybe a little."

"With friends like mine," Enjolras grumbled. "Can I at least use the fact that everyone we know can't keep a secret to my advantage?"

"I suppose."

"Has Grantaire said anything about last night?"

"Not to my knowledge."

Enjolras was about to let out a string of I uncharacteristic expletives when there was a knock at the door.

"Did you tell anyone I was here?" Enjolras asked, feeling panic rising like bile. Being told (or perhaps just reminded) that his friends had some sort of mental mind melding technique had created shadows that didn't exist.

"Not yet," Combeferre responded, getting up to answer the door.

"Combeferre, you really have to fix this because this whole thing is just..." Cosette tapered off as soon as she saw Enjolras sitting at the table. "Oh, hi there."

"Hello."

"Sorry for calling you all those names last night, but I was right, and you're still a dick."

"Did you just insult me while apologizing?"

"Yes."

"Have you heard from Grantaire?" He asked, deciding that maybe Combeferre was off his mind-reading game this morning.

"Nope. I don't think he's awake yet. I was actually going to stop by after talking to Combeferre."

"Not that we have anything to talk about, because I've explained my position in the situation, and nothing has changed." 

"Combeferre, you should be using your powers for good," Cosette said. "If you don't use them, I will be forced to make you."

"He is sitting right here, sober, why don't you talk to him?"

"He is right here," Enjolras said.

Cosette glared at Combeferre before turning toward Enjolras. "Do you remember what I said last night?"

"Yes, that Grantaire not being there was my fault."

"And do you know what you did that caused him to react in such a way?" Cosette asked in a way that made as if there was a wrong answer.

Enjolras contemplated. "No," he said after a few moments. "I have no idea."

Cosette let out a frustrated noise and threw her hands in the air. "I can't even with you two, I just can't." Then she walked to the door and let herself out. 

They sat in silence for a few moments before Enjolras asked, "do you think she meant you and I or Grantaire and I?"

"She meant you and Grantaire."

"Oh."

And then Enjolras put his head on the table in a Pontmercy fashion and groaned.

 

Grantaire woke up to his phone serenading him with the lovely strains of Old Car Horn. He groped blindly and answered without checking the screen. "Go for Grantaire."

"Did you enjoy the present I had sent over?" Grantaire could hear Montparnasse's smirk. "I thought it was terribly nice of me."

"Your dictionary must only use antonyms."

"Oh, you didn't enjoy it? Did he leave you frustrated? Where you unable to fuck him because of the stick up his ass?"

"Stop being crude."

"Is your little god still there?"

"Goodbye, Montparnasse," Grantaire said before hanging up the phone.

Grantaire got up and put on a shirt. He didn’t know whether he wanted Enjolras to still be on his couch or whether he hoped the man was gone. 

He felt a twinge of disappointment when Enjolras wasn't there.

He heard his phone ringing again and answered it. "What?"

"Don't hang up on me again."

"Why the fuck did you do that?"

"I'm just looking out for you, sugar plum," Montparnasse sneered. "What if I decide to dye my hair black? Then you won't be able to imagine it’s the back of his head."

"Fuck, Montparnasse, you're such a dick."

"I could come over. You could pull my pretty blond hair. I won't even care when you moan his name instead of mine. I'll consider it a challenge to make you yell mine."

"Fuck you." Grantaire paused. "Bring gin."

 

It was a few days before Enjolras felt his embarrassment subside enough to go over to Grantaire's and apologize. Also, as Combeferre pointed out, his phone had been missing since that night and that seemed the most logical place for it to be after checking the bar and tearing up his apartment.

He knocked twice sharply before taking a step back from the door. He was about to knock again when the door opened. "Hey," he said awkwardly. Enjolras was unused to the feeling.

"Hey," Grantaire replied. He opened the door just enough to step through it and into the hall. For a moment Grantaire was in Enjolras’ personal space and he could imagine taking a step closer and closing the distance.

It was an uncomfortable thought, and he took a step back.

"I think I maybe left my phone here the other night, I was hoping I could take a look around."

"Now isn't really a good time." Grantaire said, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. "I, uh, I have company over."

"Oh," Enjolras said, feeling something unpleasant coil in his stomach. "I just wanted a quick look. I wouldn't be in your way."

"I said no," Grantaire snapped.

Enjolras was taken aback by his behavior, and if the look on Grantaire's face was any indicator, so was he.

Grantaire ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the wall. "I told you, I have a guest over."

"Is it really a guest if he owns the place you're living?" Enjolras asked bitterly.

"Suppose not."

"So he comes into town a few days and uses you and then he leaves you some cash on the night stand like a common whore."

Grantaire's face turned to stone and Enjolras suddenly understood what his friends meant when they said he was made out of marble. This must be the same sensation, this feeling that you have disappointed the world and you can do nothing to ever change it. He wanted to grab the words back, shove them deep into his throat and hold his hands over his mouth so they could never escape again.

Grantaire turned his back to Enjolras and walked back in to his apartment, closing the door behind him. The lock sliding into place was the loudest noise Enjolras had ever heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title this week is from MC Chris' song Kingdom Farts... It's a real song. And technically it wasn't the first, but the other three where instrumental, what was I supposed to do?
> 
> Thanks as always to MeMeMe (ao3)/notanearlyadopter (tumblr)
> 
> Find me on tumblr http://re-repeatblr.tumblr.com/
> 
> I'll tumble with you any day ;)


	6. How Long Must This Go On? (An Interlude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courfeyrac shoes Enjolras a video, and Enjolras finds that he can endure more embarrassment than he originally thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An interlude, I thought you all needed something funny.

"Show it to me," Enjolras panted.

"I can't." Courfeyrac responded, also breathing heavily. "I made a promise."

"To who?"

"To Jehan."

"Please, Courf. I need to see it."

Enjolras heard something unzipping and smiled to himself.

"This is normally where I hear _it’s so big_ , I know, it's amazing." Courfeyrac said with a smile.

"You're an idiot. Why do you need a professional grade camera?"

"Because sometimes Jehan and I like to-"

"No, stop, I don't want to know. Just show me the footage."

"I would have done it earlier but I thought we were playing a really elaborate game of tag where you yelled at me to see something."

"I know I already said it, but in light of this recent information it bears repeating: you’re an idiot." Enjolras closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if just speaking to Courfeyrac was giving him a headache.

Courfeyrac pouted. "You generally don't insult people when asking them for a favor."

"Tell that to Cosette," Enjolras mumbled.

"You're lucky this was after that speech you made. Otherwise I never would have had the camera on me." Courfeyrac explained as he plugged it in to his computer.

"I was just thinking that I was extremely lucky to have such an embarrassing moment on film."

"That's why Jehan made me promise to never show it to you. He was afraid you would literally die of embarrassment."

Enjolras smiled at the poet trying to be protective as he sat down to view the computer better. "I assumed with the week I've had that a video of me drunkenly telling our friends how much I love them doesn't really make a dent."

Courfeyrac nodded understandingly and hit play.

Enjolras saw his friends all walking down a dark street. Joly and Bossuet had their arms around each others’ waists and were singing something about a maiden fair. Bahorel was trying to step on Feuilly's heels, while Eponine (from her spot latched to the redhead’s back) swatted at him. Cosette and Marius were strolling hand in hand, heads bent conspiratorially. Combeferre had his arm around Enjolras' shoulder and seemed to be trying to keep him from walking into lampposts.

All of the sudden Jehan was in the picture, filling the frame with his freckles and broad smile. "I love you," he said, planting a kiss on the camera's lens.

"Should I be jealous?" He heard Courfeyrac ask from off screen.

"Never."

"I love you guys!" He heard himself yell. Suddenly he was spinning around, making everyone stop. "Feuilly, you're so inspiring, you've overcome so much! You're just the best! I don't even care that you think Poland is better than France, you're amazing!"

"Oh god," Enjolras said.

"Just wait."

"Bossuet, your head is so shiny!" Enjolras in the video went up to Bossuet and rubbed his head lovingly. "I love it! It's just beautiful."

"Joly, it is so amazing that you know every disease ever. How do you do that!? I wish I could do that!"

Marius and Cosette were laughing and Enjolras bounced toward them. "Marius," he clasped a hand on the other man's shoulder. "It's okay that you're a Bonapartist!" He then grabbed the couple's latched hands and looked to both of them wildly. "But that is no excuse to not be nice to Cosette. Not that you’re not not nice. But keep that in mind."

Enjolras groaned and wiped a hand over his face.

"No, don't do that. You'll miss some of the best parts." Courfeyrac laughed.

"Eponine! I'm so glad you're not a criminal! Because you totally had the potential to be a really great criminal!"

"How did I not end up with a black eye?" Enjolras asked, watching as the camera panned to Jehan who was doubled over in laughter.

"She thinks you’re very funny when you're drunk. It's her favorite version of you."

Then Enjolras was in the frame, hugging Jehan so tightly that he picked the poet off the ground. "Jehan! My sweet and amazing friend Jean Prouvaire! Why are you so perfect? Even the fact that you collect skulls isn't creepy! It's is just great, because you are great!

"And Bahorel your vest is just so red! I love that we have the same favorite color, it shows that we were meant to be friends!"

Bahorel laughed and pulled Enjolras into a one-armed hug which he quickly squirmed away from, running up to where Combeferre was leaning against a building, watching his friend with a smile. "Combeferre, you are just, I can't even deal with how amazing you are. I value your friendship so much. I don't know what I would do without you. I might die, no this is not hyperbole Combeferre, this is as serious as your moth collection!"

Then Enjolras was blocking part of the frame with his shoulder, obviously in Courfeyrac's personal space. "Courfeyrac, I don't know why you sleep around, but I understand why they sleep with you, because you are just so funny and charming and I wish my hair would curl like yours does!"

"I swear I don't do that anymore!" He heard Courfeyrac say worriedly. The camera turned to Jehan who was too busy laughing to comment.

"And Grantaire-wait where is Grantaire?" The camera was back in Enjolras again, who was looking around their group of friends as if the dark haired man would magically appear.

"He hasn't been here all night!" Bahorel laughed.

"Oh, well I wanted to tell him," Enjolras stopped mid sentence, a goofy grin spreading over his face. "I'll tell him tomorrow."

Then the scene cut to Courfeyrac's bedroom and a face full of Courfeyrac, obviously fiddling with something off screen. He smiled to himself and put on a deerstalker before standing up and walking away from the camera. "Now my dear Watson, your reward for helping me sol-"

"Nope," Courfeyrac said, quickly shutting the laptop. "That's personal."

"Oh god." Enjolras said, looking at Courfeyrac in horror.

"What where you going to tell Grantaire?"

Enjolras frowned to himself, unsure of whether it was over the question or the disturbing scene he had just saw. "I don't remember."

"So I guess you didn't tell him."

"No, I guess not."

"Well, I suppose maybe one day you will." Courfeyrac responded, clapping a hand on Enjolras' back. "But until that day, let's just pretend you didn't see that last bit."

"Deal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was actually not what chapter 6 was supposed to be, but I'm having a lot of issues with it... mostly that I don't want to write it.
> 
> But don't worry, we'll be back to our regularly scheduled programming next week!
> 
> come visit me on tumblr! http://re-repeatblr.tumblr.com/
> 
>  
> 
> PS It was also an excuse for blatant innuendo. Which was fun.


	7. We Call This Quest For Satisfaction a What, Class?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bahorel makes Enjolras go to a boxing class, Feuilly has a proposition for Grantaire, and Cosette's friendship with Grantaire ends.

Grantaire was nursing a hangover at Starbucks, because the likelihood that he'd run into Enjolras here was nonexistent. 

Then Feuilly was in his face saying, "I was hoping to find you here!" The redhead exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. His face looked drawn and there were dark splotches under his eyes. "I need a favor."

"I haven't spoken to you in a week and that's the first thing you say to me?"

"I've been trying to get in touch with you—you're the one who has apparently been in hiding."

"Why did you expect to find me here?"

"Because last night was Thirsty Thirsday at the Red Parrot, and I'm apparently one of your emergency contacts. They said they were just leaving you there, because you were too drunk to move and also you paid the closing manager $200 to let you sleep on the floor. This place is right across the street so-"

"Yeah, I get it, I'm a mess and you need a favor."

Feuilly sat down at his table and set a folder down. "It's a favor disguised as a partnership." He opened the folder and started taking out papers; pencil drawings and typed notes, a few pages with color. "I sent these in to my editor and he liked them, but he said the color wasn't right and a few other notes."

Grantaire looked them over, eyebrows knitting together. "You never mentioned this."

Feuilly smiled bashfully. "I was just gonna let it lie. I wasn't sure it would even sell, so I figured I would just keep quiet about it."

"So what's the favor?"

"You're a lot better with color than I am, and your line work is a lot more subtle which is something the editor said they wanted.”

"Is that Eponine?" Grantaire asked, pointing to a character on the page. Her hair was streaming behind her as she slashed through what looked like an ogre.

Feuilly's only response was to turn as red as his hair.

"Holy shit," Grantaire mumbled as he flipped through the pages. "This is some love letter."

"Are you in or not?"

"Can I think about it? I think it's a lot more likely that I'll just fuck everything up. And you've got something kind of awesome here."

Feuilly took the papers back and put them in the folder. "Just let me know soon. Otherwise I'll have to ask Barker."

"Ugh, not him."

"Just get in touch with Eponine, at least. She's been really worried. Or anyone. Enjolras being a dick doesn't give you an excuse to fall off the edge of the earth." 

"I didn't really think you all would notice."

Feuilly glared at him, punching him in the shoulder. "Of course we would, you idiot. We're your friends." Feuilly grabbed the folder, standing up. "I'll see you later."

"See you," Grantaire said. He grinned to himself as he rubbed his sore shoulder. He was sure the punch would leave a bruise.

That thought made his grin wider.

 

"Okay, so wrap in between your fingers then back around your palm," Bahorel explained. "It keeps all those tiny little moveable bones in place."

"I thought it was to cushion your hand." Enjolras said as he flexed his fingers.

"Yeah, because a little strip of cloth is going to add some real oomph to your punch." Bahorel rolled his eyes and took Enjolras' hand. "That's too loose. Joly will kill me if you end up with a fractured hand."

"Why am I even here?"

"You promised me the other night."

"When I was drunk."

"Yeah."

"I never promised, did I?"

Bahorel's grin reminded Enjolras of a shark. "Nah, but here you are, so let’s do this." He dug in his locker and pulled out a pair of gloves. "Don't think I'll go easy on you just because I teach the class." 

"You teach the class?"

"Are we just going to repeat what the other one says?"

"Are you always this snarky before noon?" 

"Yes."

"Mr. Bahorel!" A flash of pink yelled before turning a running leap into a hug.

"Hey there, Claudia." Bahorel said affectionately.

"Where's Mr. Grantaire?" She asked. 

"He couldn't make it today. He was feeling a little sick."

"More like hungover." Gavroche had popped out of thin air but Enjolras didn't miss the glare he managed to shoot Enjolras' way.

Claudia was currently clinging to Bahorel's bicep as he lifted her off the air and giving Enjolras a curious look. "Who is he?"

"He's a friend of mine and Mr. Grantaire."

"Is he the friend who you were telling Mr. Grantaire that they just needed to get in the ring and punch each other?"

Enjolras frowned at Bahorel who shrugged as he set her down. "Why don't you go wrap your hands, Claudia?”

 

"You said Grantaire and I should just fight?"

"He figured that then you two could just kiss and make up." Gavroche glared at Enjolras again. "I'm really sick of hearing about this, so I think it's a perfectly reasonable idea."

"You're a very strange eleven year old."

"You're a really stupid twenty-two year old."

"Okay, Gavroche, go wrap your hands and put your gloves on." Bahorel said, pulling Enjolras aside.

"You've been talking to Gavroche about my arguing with Grantaire?"

"No, he helps teach the class. We chat."

"Oh," Enjolras replied. "I didn't realize it was a regular thing. I didn't even realize he knew how to box."

"That's how we met. We were fighting in an amateur match. Knocked the snot out of me then bought the first round."

Enjolras could see it; Grantaire's bloody grin and as he helped the other man up. It made something inside him ache.

Bahorel frowned at him. "But really, you guys need to get over your shit. I figured maybe going a few rounds would be helpful."

"Violence doesn't solve every problem."

"It's solved most of mine." He grinned again and clapped Enjolras on the back. "Come on, let’s see if you can punch as hard as a ten-year-old girl. "

 

Eponine glared at him over her drink. Her mouth was set in a hard line and her knuckles were turning white.

"Careful there, you might break the glass." He said jokingly, hoping to alleviate some of the tension.

 

She just continued to glare.

"Hey Ep I come bearing -oh fuck no." Cosette said, her grin immediately disappearing. She set the shots she was carrying down and walked away without another word.

Grantaire stared at the door before looking to Eponine. "What was that about?"

"She didn't realize you were going to be here."

"I figured that much."

"She refuses to talk to either you or Enjolras until you two make up, because she just can't handle you two."

"You're saying Cosette won't talk to me until Enjolras and I make up?"

"No, she won't talk to you until Enjolras and you make out."

Grantaire took the shot and raised it in toast. "To Cosette. Our friendship was beautiful and it died too young."

"So that's it? You're just giving up?" Eponine said once he had tipped the shot back.

"I don't even want to be in love with him anymore, Eponine." He stared into the bottom of his glass instead of at her sad eyes. "I feel like I'm in love with a monster. He brings out the worst in me."

Eponine sighed and laid her hand over his. "No, _you_ bring out the worst in you. You run to alcohol and bad people instead of facing things head on." She smiled at him, the expression not reaching her eyes. "Trust me, it takes one to know one."

"What are you running from tonight?"

"I'm not running anymore. I'm just having a drink with a friend."

"Liar."

"He believes in you, just as much as you believe in him." Eponine said, so softly that Grantaire almost missed it.

"I'm cutting you off. Apparently you've drunk so much that you're experiencing delusions."

"I'm serious, Grantaire." She squeezed his hand. "You know I'm not his number one fan, but that's the reason he gets so angry. I think."

Grantaire pulled his hand away, lifting his glass and draining it. "Don't give me hope, Eponine," he said bitterly. "It's never been a good fit for me." He grabbed his jacket from the edge of the booth and left. 

 

"I stand corrected you are a horrible friend." Enjolras glared at Combeferre and folded his arms over his chest.

"I didn't realize the French Revolution exhibit had been taken down."

"And that one of the world's biggest bug collections, the one that has the most moths, was put up in its place?"

"Actually, Enjolras, it's Lepidoptera." Courfeyrac said, pointing to the pamphlet he had. "See?"

"That's the scientific name for moth." Combeferre said.

Enjolras felt a twinge of anger over the fact that Combeferre didn't even look guilty.

"Come on, love, let's go look at the beetles." Jehan said excitedly, pulling Courfeyrac away.

Enjolras and Combeferre walked toward the cases where the moths were stored, silently reading plaques about wing spans and patterning. "Did you know," Combeferre said, breaking the silence, "That scientists don't know why moths are attracted to light? They believe it has something to do with flight patterns, that moths use the moon for navigation and can perceive the slightest change in angle. Man made sources of light are much brighter and closer, so the angle changes much faster, which is why moths just end up in a spiral flight pattern around the light."

"Fascinating," Enjolras responded dryly.

"Something has changed with you, Enjolras." Combeferre set a hand gently on his shoulder. "You've been a bit erratic these past few weeks."

Enjolras shrugged him off and Combeferre sighed.

"I'm just concerned about you."

Enjolras didn't respond, but continued to look at the collection. When he heard laughter, he looked up, and saw Courfeyrac and Jehan across the room. Courfeyrac had his arms wrapped around Jehan as the poet pointed toward something hanging on the wall. Courfeyrac nuzzled into Jehan's neck and Jehan's smile grew wider.

Enjolras turned away and focused far too intently on the Polyphemus moth.

"Sometimes I get jealous of Courfeyrac." Combeferre said quietly.

Enjolras' head shot up in surprise. "You have feelings for Jehan?"

Combeferre let out a small laugh. "No. Nothing more than friendship. Just that Courfeyrac has someone he could be so close to."

"You and I are close."

"Not in the same way. I get jealous of the physical intimacy and affection they so willingly share."

Enjolras grabbed Combeferre's hand, lacing their fingers together. They stood there for a moment before Enjolras smiled. "This is weird, isn't it?"

"A little." Combeferre responded, letting go of his hand. "I just haven't found someone yet to share that with. It will happen someday, I'm in no rush."

"I'm not either."

Combeferre let out a soft sigh. "Maybe that person is right under your nose."

"I think we just established that holding hands was weird. I would hate to think what adding that would do to us.” Enjolras gestured to where Courfeyrac and Jehan were kissing passionately. "That would be weird."

 

Combeferre smiled affectionately at him. "Just think about it. I'm going to go stop them before they get us kicked out."

As Combeferre walked away, Enjolras wondered what his friend could have been talking about.

 

For the first time in a long time, Grantaire was drawing something other than Enjolras.

 

He was drawing a warrior queen, roaring mightily as she led an army; a Celtic warlock casting a curse; a freckled prophet, eyes milky white, speaking in rhyme.

He felt inspired.

He drew over copies Feuilly had sent him, adding details and changing scenes.

He didn't realize it was almost four in the morning until Feuilly groggily cursed him out over the phone.

"I'm in. I'll help with your sappy violent love letter."

"Really?" Feuilly asked, sounding more awake.

"Yes! I started drawing and I couldn't stop and I drew over some of you things and wanted your opinions, but, look, you're going to be the final say on this, and-"

"Stop, stop. Where can we get coffee at four in the morning?"

"IHOP?"

"Yes, right. I'll be there in twenty."

There was a click as the line went dead and Grantaire was rushing to grab his art supplies and slip on his shoes before flying out the door.

He met Feuilly fifteen minutes later and they sat on the same side of the booth, drawing over each other and pounding back coffee. Grantaire felt his hand cramp and dropped his pencil, massaging the heel. "Holy crap, I think this is actually going to be good. I think your stupid love letter is going to be really good."

"Stop calling it that." Feuilly mumbled, his ears becoming pink. He set his own pencil down and picked up a long forgotten menu.

"You turned her into a queen! This is Eponine on a page as a warrior princess. I'm surprised you're not somewhere in here getting the girl."

Feuilly's blush spread to his cheeks and neck.

"Oh my god, you did." Grantaire said, punching him lightly in the shoulder. "You totally wrote yourself in there and had some epic romance with her!"

"There was a blacksmith, but the editors said his character was superfluous." Feuilly glared as Grantaire continued to laugh. "I'm surprised you didn't put some weird elvish prince in there who was trying to free a slave group with the queen's help." 

"Nah, this is your love letter," Grantaire said, a small smile flitting across his face. He grabbed the menu and started flipping through. "Let's order something, scarf it down, then get back to work. When do they need it?"

"The weekend."

"I've always loved a challenge."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you spot the biggest joke in here? Its definitely the most subtle.
> 
> Come visit me on tumblr, I do a whole lot of nothing, but sometimes I do somethings so it could be fun: http://re-repeatblr.tumblr.com
> 
> This week's song is Reproduction from one of the best musicals of all time Grease 2


	8. It Ain't Slow and It Sho' Ain't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A B plot is wrapped up and Grantaire is reunited with his favorite blonde

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG! At least it's almost over?

**Apollo:** There is a meeting tonight at 7. We had to change locations, so it will be at Combeferre's apartment.

 

"I miss Grantaire," Cosette sighed.

"It's not like he's dead. He's around and you can see him whenever you want." Marius said.

"No I can't. I have to stick to my convictions. I'm not speaking to either of those two idiots until they're together and deliriously happy."

"Cosette, it's been three months."

Cosette placed her head on Marius' shoulder, tracing circles on his arm. "They deserve to be as happy as we are."

Marius smiled, placing a kiss on her hair. "I think you should call him.”

 

 **Apollo:** You were missed at the meeting tonight.

 

"What is that thing called again?" Grantaire asked, looking over Feuilly's shoulder.

"An ahuitozl. They were monsters from Aztec legends who liked to eat the nails, eyes, and teeth of humans." He added a set of horns, before erasing them. "I thought it would be a good enemy."

"Sure looks scary enough." Grantaire replied before looking at his own dragon. "I say we go with your enemy. Mine is pretty generic." Grantaire balled up the drawing and threw it over his shoulder.

"Littering is bad for the environment."

Grantaire turned and smiled at Gavroche who had the balled up paper in his hand. "I planned on picking it up, officer, I swear."

Gavroche rolled his eyes and uncrumpled the paper, looking over it. His eyes lit up when he realized what it was. "This is cool. I'm gonna get it tattooed on my back."

"I think you're a little young for that," Feuilly said.

"Eponine got her first tattoo when she was fifteen. That's only five years from now." He held the drawing up to Grantaire. "Can you make it so someone is fighting this?"

"Uh sure. Who?"

Gavroche swings his book bag around and pulls out a comic, handing it to Grantaire. "I want her. She's a warrior queen, and she's totally badass, and I'd be the coolest kid in school with that tattooed on my back. Not that I care." He added quickly.

Grantaire and Feuilly both smiled at each other.

"Can we tell you a secret?" Feuilly asked.

Gavroche quirked an eyebrow, but nodded. 

"We're Team F and R."

Gavroche looked between the two before grabbing his book and flipping through to the very back. "F is a ginger artist just working hard. For him this is a labor of love. R is a reformed optimist trying to find his way in the world. For him this is just hard labor." He looked from Feuilly to Grantaire before saying, "Holy shit."

"Watch your language."

"Holy crap."

"That's better."

"Wanna know another secret?" Grantaire asked.

"Grantaire, please don't." Feuilly pleaded.

"The warrior queen is based on Eponine. Do you really want a tattoo of your sister on your back?"

"Ew," Gavroche replied. "Since you just ruined my childhood, I'm going to go." He turned to walk away before smiling at both of them. "I can't wait for the next issue." Then he ran off.

Feuilly groaned."Did you really have to tell him that?"

"The kid was going to end up with a shitty stick pin tattoo. I couldn't let that happen."

 

 **Apollo:** How are you doing?

 

Montparnasse smiled at him, running a hand through his hair. "So that was break-up sex?"

"I think you have to be in a relationship for there to be actually break-up sex." Grantaire reached across Montparnasse to grab his cigarettes and a lighter. He offered one to Montparnasse, who accepted it, twisting it between his fingers. "But, yeah, I guess so."

"Bummer. Claquesous is just not as giving in bed."

"Ew."

"Does this mean your main squeeze is going to be here permanently?"

"I broke up with him." Grantaire replied. He fiddled absently with his lighter. "I deserve to be more than just something on the side. He deserves more than someone who loves someone else."

Montparnasse gave him a look before he said, "have you always been this full of shit, or am I just now noticing because you have just told me we are no longer going to be fucking?"

"I know, I have no idea what happened to me."

"Nah, it's good to have some self worth. I believe they refer to that as character growth, and it generally means the narrative arc is coming to a close." Montparnasse inhaled, letting steam billow out of his nostrils. "How long do you get to stay here?" 

"He said I could stay as long as I needed. The lease isn't up for another three months, but I decided I'd rather strike out on my own sooner rather than later."

Montparnasse let out a whistle. "You really are trying to get your shit together."

Grantaire just shrugged in response.

 

 **Apollo:** Russia offered Edward Snowden asylum. You would probably argue it's not for freedom of speech but a big middle finger to the US

 

"Eponine, can you do me a favor?"

"Gavroche, I already told you, I'm not going to date your English teacher so you can get the answers to the next test."

Gavroche scowled at her before handing her his comic. "Can you ask Feuilly and Grantaire to sign this for me? I forgot to ask the other day."

Eponine gave her brother a quizzical look, before flipping through the pages idly. "I can, though I don't really get why you'd want that."

"Because they created it."

Eponine laughed. "I'm sorry, you must be confused. Grantaire would never do something like this."

"I'm serious! I saw them the other day in the park, and they were working, and they told me they did! And then Grantaire told me that Feuilly based Queen Imelda off of you."

"You mean her?" Eponine asked, pointing to the cover where the Queen Imelda was jumping in the air, her sword raised over her head.

"Yeah. Don't you see the resemblance? She's ugly just like you."

Eponine stared at the comic, and then flipped it open. To the real Imelda: you are brave, you are bold, and hopefully one day I'll be able to tell you that. Eponine's eyes widened and she stood up slowly from the couch. She walked straight to her room and closed the door softly.

"So is that a yes?" Gavroche called after her.

 

 **Apollo:** You're much better at making puns about Patria than Courfeyrac is.

 

Grantaire felt his phone buzz and fished it out of his pocket, reading the screen quickly before putting the phone down on the table. He stared at it quizzically for a few moments before Feuilly asked, "what are you doing?"

"Being thoroughly confused."

"Why?" Feuilly asked. When Grantaire's response was to continue to stare at his phone as if it had grown tentacles Feuilly grabbed it off the table. "Apollo: James Gandolfini's Rolex was stolen off his corpse. Maybe you are right about the world." Feuilly put the phone down and adopted the same expression as Grantaire.

When his phone buzzed again, Grantaire lunged for it, reading it with a smile before quickly typing out a response.

"Are you finally caving now that Enjolras is sending you celebrity gossip?" Feuilly asked.

Grantaire glared at him. "No, a different blonde caved into me.” 

"I don't need to know about your sex life."

"Cosette finally texted me, you idiot. I invited her to join us here since she doesn't have such a stick up her ass about her coffee being local."

"I feel horrible every time I look in the froth slave's cold dead eyes."

"Well, we can't work at your apartment because you don't want our friends to know about the comic, and we can't work at mine because it stifles the creativity with all its horrible bourgeosieness."

"If Cosette is coming here, then I guess we should pack up our stuff." Feuilly replied, already stacking the pages neatly.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. "Cosette isn't going to tell anyone. She keeps her mouth shut. Her hair is so big because it's full of secrets, blah blah blah." Grantaire looked up from his doodle and saw Feuilly panicking, stuffing pages into his bag. "What the fuck?! Be careful you ginger shit, those were good!"

"It's her, she's here, she can't see them." Feuilly said quickly, not looking up from the table.

Grantaire looked away from a panicked Feuilly toward the door and saw Eponine and Cosette. Eponine looked pale and Cosette gave a little wave before shoving her further in. "Hello Feuilly, hello Grantaire," Cosette said, beaming at them both.

"Hi Feuilly." Eponine said quietly, looking at her feet.

"Am I chopped liver?" Grantaire asked, but only received a glare from Cosette.

"Hi Eponine," Feuilly replied, staring at the folder in his hands.

They stood like this for a few uncomfortable moments before Cosette finally let out a sigh of frustration. "Eponine, stop being such an idiot."

Eponine inhaled deeply before getting something out of her purse. "Did you create this?" She asked, holding the comic out.

"Technically it was a joint collaboration," Grantaire replied.

Cosette glared at him again and mouthed _shut up._

"Yes," Feuilly replied, finally looking at Eponine. His ears and cheeks were tinged pink and his jaw was set in a grimace. "Yes, I did."

"Is that me?"

"Yes."

Eponine stared at him for a minute, nodding to herself. Then she smiled. "You're an idiot," she laughed, before bending down and kissing him.

Grantaire wanted to turn away from his friends and give them privacy, but he couldn’t. He knew that he had a masochistic streak, and he knew that it was coming into full swing right now. There was Eponine, one of his best friends, kissing Feuilly, a man who deserved more happiness than anyone could ever give, and all he wanted to do was scream. He wanted to scream because he was jealous of the way Eponine’s hand was curled around Feuilly’s neck, fingers grazing his hairline; because Feuilly’s ears were turning pink, and because he was somehow smiling into the kiss because he was so happy that this was happening.

Months of pining and he had what he wanted.

Grantaire had years of experience with pining, and now he was jealous that his friends were happy and he was here watching them kiss—watching the beginnings of a relationship form right in front of him—and instead of being happy for them he was jealous.

"We could have been doing that for three months. Probably longer, so you owe me a lot of kisses." Eponine said, beaming at him.

Feuilly smiled back. "I think I can live with that." He stood up and Grantaire couldn't tell who actually reached out to grab the other person's hand first. "I'll see you tomorrow, Grantaire," Feuilly said absently, never unlocking his gaze from Eponine's.

"And I'll see you at some point in the near future to beat you up for being a horrible friend." Eponine said, before tugging Feuilly toward the door.

Grantaire watched as they stopped outside of the door, Feuilly laughing as he pulled Eponine toward him and kissed her soundly.

"What just happened?" He asked Cosette.

"I decided if you and Enjolras weren't going to finally get together I needed to get them together. Eponine called me in a panic about the comic after her brother showed it to her and I decided to use my powers for good."

Grantaire smiled at her. "I really missed you, little lark."

"I missed you too, R." She replied, stooping down to hug him.

"You're not going to fly out of my life again, are you? Because I find that I need a blond in my life at all times and I'm currently lacking one."

"I wasn't planning on it."

"Good, because I need your help.” 

"Is this about Enjolras?" She asked hopefully. 

"No," Grantaire replied. He fiddled with his pen nervously before he said, "I, uh, I broke up with Richard-- that was his name, Richard. I need to find my own place, and you're really good at this sort of thing."

Cosette grabbed his hand and squeezed it. "I'd be happy to help."

They sat in silence for a moment before Grantaire squeezed her hand. "I really did miss you."

"I missed you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AGAIN: I am so sorry this took so long. The tl;dr version of why: life.
> 
> You can tell how long it was since I did the first write up based on the references, but some of the emotionally things where just difficult to write.
> 
> This is the penultimate chapter, and everything will be resolved, so stay tuned (I'll try to get it done in a timely fashion!)
> 
> The song is Feng Shui by Gnarles Barkley


	9. This Is Just The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end and the beginning, all wrapped up in one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me a while to update, this is the last chapter. I hope you enjoyed reading!

Grantaire felt like finding an apartment had taken them forever. Despite the fact that it had taken Cosette only a day of apartment hunting, he felt as if the process of packing had taken a month.

Really it had only been a week. His stuff was in a U-Haul downstairs and he was waiting for Cosette to show up with the keys and for his friends to show up. He had sent out a message asking for help moving and everyone had said they would be able to make it. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, he had fresh coffee and was about to move into a decent place with a friend. Life was good.

And Enjolras was walking down the sidewalk and waving at him.

Life was maybe not good.

Grantaire stood up quickly, nearly spilling his coffee in his haste. “Hey,” Enjolras said. “I hope I’m not late. I came to help.”

“Uh, no one is here yet,” Grantaire responded, dumbfounded. “Did Cosette ask you to come?”

Enjolras’ smile broke for a moment. “No. You did.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did.” Enjolras fished around in his pocket, pulling out his phone. He tapped it a few times before showing Grantaire the screen. Grantaire read over the messages before seeing that Enjolras was right. “But I just selected the friend grou—oh.” Grantaire stepped away, looking at the sidewalk. “You’re still in the friend group. I just hit that. I didn’t think.”

“So you don’t want me here?” Enjolras asked carefully.

“No—that’s not—Enjolras.” Grantaire sat down on the step of his new apartment building, putting his head in his hands. “Fuck, it’s been a while.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Enjolras’ leg as he sat down next to him. Suddenly his left side felt very hot, as if the parts of his body closest to Enjolras were on fire. “I tried to get in touch,” Enjolras said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I know.”

“I invited you to meetings.”

“I know.”

“I tried to send you things that would be relevant to your interest.”  
“I know!” Grantaire growled. He looked up from his lap and balled his fists. “I don’t understand why though! You made your feelings about me perfectly clear. Scum under your shoe, not worthy of breathing the same air as you, I believe the phrase “common whore” was used.”

Enjolras looked Grantaire in the eye before looking at a spot just above his head. “I’m sorry. I just should have said sorry.”

“You realize sorry doesn’t actually cover everything, right?”

“Yes, but I don’t know what else to say. For once I find I am at a loss for words.” Enjolras switched his gaze to look at his hand, cover one of Grantaire’s with his own. “But I’m here now, and I would like to apologize. I’m sorry that I was a horrible and judgmental. I’m sorry that I hurt you.”

Grantaire stared at the hand covering his own, feeling like he was at a loss for words too. “I didn’t want to talk to you. I didn’t want anything to do with you.”

Enjolras withdrew his hand quickly, standing up. “Then I’ll be going. I’m sure the others will be here soon to help.”

“No—wait!” Grantaire grabbed his hand, and somehow feeling the warm dry skin of Enjolras’ palm against his own was the best feeling he could never describe. “I didn’t. Past tense.”

“Oh,” was all Enjolras could say, staring down at their hands. He felt Grantaire start to pull away and laced their fingers together.

Grantaire stared at their hands, unable to look away. Enjolras was holding his hand and it felt weird and Enjolras’ hand was surprisingly sweaty. “What are you doing?”

“I’m holding your hand.”

“I can see that.”

“Then why ask?”

“You know that wasn’t the question I was asking,” Grantaire responded, pulling away. “It doesn’t matter that you apologized—I mean it does—but you can’t just expect an apology to fix it. You can’t just expect me to forgive you because you hold my hand and look at me with dopey eyes. I get it. You figured out your feelings or something, but this isn’t how it works.”

“I did figure out my feelings for you.”

“I can tell.”  
“I want it on the record that I like you in more than a friendly way.”

Grantaire swallowed thickly, biting the inside of his cheek. “Noted. That doesn’t change anything, even if I return those feelings. We were barely friends before that, and then things got worse… I can’t do anything about these feelings right now.”

Enjolras looked down at this lap, before nodding to himself. “Not right now, but at some point?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Maybe. Lets see if we can spend time together without ripping each other’s heads off and making each other feel like shit.”

“Agreed,” Enjolras replied. He held out his hand to Grantaire, who shook it. They continued to hold hands, smiling at each other. “So, I guess I should ask if you want to hang out sometime?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to hang out sometime?” Enjolras asked, smiling brightly. 

Grantaire contemplated it for a moment before saying, “Sure. If you help me start unloading the truck.”

“A lot of conditions for hanging out. You’re worth it though,” Enjolras added, letting go of Grantaire’s hand so he could stand up. “Alright, lets get started.”

“I would like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come visit me on tumblr! I'm user re-sassafrass

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed reading this! Thanks to MeMeMe for being very encouraging and a good beta reader. She actually deserves a medal because I wrote all of this on my phone in notes (because I'm crazy?) and there was a bunch of things I should have caught if I had read through it, but she corrected it anyway, because she is a saint.


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